


Swan Queen ficlets

by HelveticaBrown



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7086346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelveticaBrown/pseuds/HelveticaBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for some of my smaller SQ fics to live. Mostly between 500 and 1500 words. I've posted a few of these to tumblr in the past</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do they have orthodontists in the Enchanted Forest?

Emma hears the front door close and a moment later, the sound of an engine starting. She pulls her shirt over her head, and as she walks past the mirror on her way to the shower, her eyes can’t help but be drawn to the two arcs inscribed upon the flesh of her shoulder. They haven’t bruised – yet – but she suspects they will soon join the collection of purple and red anointing various parts of her body.

She looks a little closer and marvels, not for the first time, at how straight Regina’s teeth are. Any orthodontist would be proud to be responsible for this bite pattern and the smile it belongs to. The smile it belongs to can be cruel, mocking, hungry, predatory and ever so occasionally (but never for Emma) it can be warm. She traces each indentation with her fingers, mapping out the startling evenness, as perfectly aligned as soldiers in formation.

She tries not to dwell on what this perfect visual echo of Regina’s smile represents. Tries not to dwell on her hopeless desire to hear her name fall from Regina’s lips in a benediction rather than a curse for once. Tries not to dwell on the memory of Regina sinking teeth into her shoulder in an effort to avoid just that, as Emma’s fingers coaxed wave after wave of pleasure from her.

It hadn’t been a surprise that sex between them was as adversarial, as fraught as every other aspect of their relationship. The segue between fighting and fucking is barely perceptible and everything is swept up into a maelstrom of hate and desire, of sensation, of cathartic release. Breath that comes quick and harsh with anger is remodulated, just as quick, but somehow different, as hands and tongues seek out bare skin. Pleasure is intense; every orgasm feels like it could end the world. With Regina, everything always feels like _more_ , somehow, like walking into the midday sun after years spent underground.

The surprise is in the brief moments of tenderness that emerge, like when Regina presses soft kisses to her hipbones, or brushes a gentle thumb across her lower lip. Those moments are all too fleeting, because almost immediately, Regina remembers herself and there are teeth replacing the thumb, or fingernails digging into her sides.

She catalogues each of those marks: on her throat, her shoulder, her breasts, her back, her thighs. They’re a breadcrumb trail retracing the path of pleasure given and taken. Right now, they’re stark against her pale skin, but soon they will be gone and it will appear as if Regina’s teeth and tongue and lips and fingers had not been there at all. She’ll mourn their loss and crave their restoration, crave the next moment when fingers will sink deep inside her and perfect teeth will mar her skin.

But the truth is that even when those marks fade, others will still be there, etched deeper than skin and muscle and bone and viscera. Regina has found a way inside her and now Emma wants things she knows she can’t have. She wants the tender, the soft, the smile like a hot water bottle pressed to her abdomen, warming her through. She wants all these things but when she opens herself to them, Regina’s eyes are like a door slamming shut and her smile is cruel again.

She gets into the shower and runs it hot, almost hotter than she can bear, with water driving against her skin like thousands of needles. She wishes she could wash it all away, slough it off like so much dead skin. She can’t, though, so she focuses on scrubbing away the stickiness between her thighs and the scent of Regina clinging to her skin and hopes that the rest will somehow fade with time.


	2. Trees have feelings too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this ages ago... It's extremely silly, and fair warning, it's not very kind to Robin

* * *

Emma was sitting at her desk writing a report about Pongo escaping and wreaking havoc for the 17th time this month when Robin walked in, his perpetually furrowed brow looking even more like a BMX track than usual. She idly wondered, not for the first time, if he was actually the original boy from the story about the wind changing. After all, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been content to stay put in his own story, so Robin not sticking to his own lane wasn’t outside the realms of possibility. She tried (and failed) to remember a time when she’d actually seen Robin wearing a different facial expression and eventually concluded that she must be right. She mustered a smile; perhaps he would have something for her that would get her out of the enormous stack of paperwork she had piling up.

“Sheriff, I’d like to report an act of vandalism around my campsite.”

Emma stifled a sigh of disappointment. _Vandalism. That always means more boring paperwork and zero action_. She never got a chance to do interesting police work like small-town cops on TV. Four years, and the only murder case she’d caught was actually a total fake. She was so overdue for a big case, it wasn’t funny. She daydreamed for a moment about international arms smuggling rings and threats to national security that only she could stop… The inevitable hostage crisis that she’d single-handedly avert, and the kiss of gratitude she’d receive as the screen faded to black and the credits rolled…

She roused herself from her contemplation of saving the world one hot brunette at a time when she remembered that Robin was still standing in front of her. “What kind of vandalism are we talking?”

“It hurts too much to talk about. I’ll just have to show you.”

They arrived at the campsite, and Robin led her around the perimeter of the campsite, pointing to tree after tree. Emma’s brows stopped just barely short of her hairline as she surveyed the scene.

Beside her, Robin scratched his head. “ _Swan Queen 4-E-V-A_ , surrounded by a heart. What do you suppose it means?”

Emma peered at him intently, realising he’d managed to twist his face into a slightly more puzzled version of its usual self. _Impressive._ “Umm… I’m not entirely sure.” Emma struggled to maintain her composure and covered up by examining one of the carvings more closely.

“It just hurts me so deeply to see trees harmed like this. I almost feel like they’re kindred spirits. I know it sounds so sappy, but…” He sighed. “They’re just so tall and handsome and wooden.”

Emma bit back a laugh and finished her examination of the crime scene. “I think I’ve got what I need here.

“You will catch them, won’t you Sheriff? I hate to think that this sociopath might continue to terrorise innocent trees.”

*****

“Hello dear. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Regina’s voice was almost a purr, and Emma felt it deep and low in her belly.

“Don’t try to distract me Regina. This is strictly business, and you already know why I’m calling.”

“I’m sure I don’t.”

“Regina… I just got back from Robin Hood’s campsite and I saw the strangest thing while I was there.”

“Were he and the Merry Men having another men’s retreat? They all get naked, roll around in the mud a bit and then talk about their feelings. I had nightmares for weeks after I accidentally stumbled upon one of those. I also found out that Little John’s name is very literal.”

_Ewww…_ Emma really didn’t need that visual. “No. Nothing quite so terrifying. Do you happen to know anything about some tree carvings that have your magical fingerprints all over them?”

“I was trying to tell him about us.”

“Can’t you just do this like a normal person and take out a full page ad in the Mirror? Or tell Ruby or Granny and wait for the rumour to get back to him? You need to tell him that it’s over.”

Regina sighed. “I’ve tried so many times. He’s just so thick, kind of like a giant sequoia.”

“Regina, we’re getting married next month. I just don’t want him showing up and spoiling our day.”

“I know dear, I’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too.”


	3. Mirage

Sometimes the way Regina looks at her gives her hope. Hope that there’s some _thing_ , some _one_ for her, even after everything, after all the false starts and the broken promises. She’s spent a lifetime learning that love has only ever been about pain and loss and abandonment, there for a moment and then torn away. Happiness has always been on the horizon, always just out of reach, drawing her in and then breaking her heart. Always just over the next hill, shimmering and bright and then gone.

This thing with Regina, she’s built it up in her head, all beautiful and shining and perfect. Beautiful and shining and perfect and not at all real. Sometimes, she aches to reach out, run her fingers through Regina’s hair, cup her cheek in her hand, but she knows that she can’t. Knows that if she does, this beautiful castle in the sky will crumble, will slip through her fingers, nothing more than motes of light. So she keeps her distance: three feet apart on the sofa, Henry in between them, as they watch a movie. Hastily worded excuses for why she can’t stay for another glass of wine after Henry goes to bed. Always close enough to see, but never to touch.

She shoves her hands deep in her pockets and her smile is guarded and closed as she says goodnight. She takes a last look at Regina framed perfectly by the door, a masterpiece of beauty and magic and light and shade, before she turns to go.

And she stops.

She closes her eyes for a moment; of all her senses, she trusts sight the least right now. There’s a hand on her arm, solid and warm. Tangible. Real. Regina’s voice is a whisper, barely more than an exhalation, and Emma has to strain to hear it.

“Stay. _Please_.”

She keeps her eyes squeezed shut and wishes as hard as she can, as hard as she knows how. When she finally opens them, Regina’s still there. She reaches out a shaky hand and when her fingertips brush smooth skin and Regina sighs her name, she thinks she might be just about ready to believe.

Because maybe, for once, it isn’t a trick of the light.


End file.
